Kairos
by The Readers Muse
Summary: He hated art.
**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** I was out for beers on the weekend and got inspired. – Set pre canon. References vague homophobia, Aaron's less than stellar upbringing concerning gender and sexuality, mild language, and yet another spin on how Aaron and Eric got together.

 **Kairos**

He hated art.

He hated art when he threw on his best shirt and made a laughable attempt to get his hair to do something other than have a mind of its own. Desperately trying to imitate whatever the hairdresser did whenever they finished cooing over his curls and somehow taming them into something along the lines of: 'I woke up like this, feel free to bask in the perfection of my genetic code,' kind of style.

He hated art when he wedged himself into the funky smelling taxi and rattled off the address on the flyer he'd nicked off one of the tables in the break room. Tugging awkwardly on his collar as he obsessively fiddled with his phone. Wondering for the fifth time if he'd actually heard the man right when Eric breezed into the break room with a handful of the same flyers. Chattering on to one of the ladies from Human Resources about his friend's first gala opening. Saying he was going to be there all weekend to help out and hoped some of them would stop by and keep him company.

He hated art when he paid the thirty-five freaking dollars just to get into the stupid place. Immediately feeling under dressed as gaggle of suits and glittering dresses that probably cost more than a months' rent floated serenely by. Not sure what else to do but accept the glass of red wine he was offered and sulk behind the rim. Following the signs down the hall into an expansive atrium spotted with paintings and sculptures set on dainty little tables and glossy wooden easels.

And he _definitely_ hated art when he looked around and the only red head in the room was a middle aged woman with bottle auburn hair and wine-flushed cheeks currently hanging off the arm of a bald man in an awful looking bow-tie. Looking far more interested in the blonde, baby faced doorman standing by the entrance with a stack of pamphlets than what the man was saying as they wandered from painting to painting.

 _Shit._

Disappointment flared. Hot and bright like a blush as it threatened to wind down his neck and stain across his chest in those awful blotchy red splotches that reminded him of high school locker rooms and that one horrifying moment of sexual self-discovery he'd been gutted with when his prom date had pulled him into the back seat of his Mom's Range Rover and tangled her pretty pink nails in his belt.

 _God, he was an idiot._

He wandered around from painting to painting out of a lack of any other options. Half listening to the conversations going on around him. Wondering idly what they were seeing that he wasn't as he stared into a black lined grey-scale whose placard was labeled 'Abyss'.

He shook his head.

 _Art was_ _weird._

He squinted. Wondering if this was one of those optical illusions where if you stared at it for long enough, you'd see Jesus or a giant middle finger. Because currently, the only abyss he could see was the yawning chasm of his own self-respect and non-existent romantic life.

This had to be the most impulsive thing he'd ever done. But he couldn't shake the feeling Eric was worth it. This was his first time with the tables flipped. With him finally going after something _he_ wanted for a change and he had to admit he was more than a little out of his depth.

 _Okay, maybe a lot out of his depth._

His lip twitched against the rim of his wineglass as he remembered the little wave the man had given him as he'd driven past in the parkade after work on Friday. He'd wanted an opportunity to get to know him outside of the brief conversation in the board room or a shared elevator ride before they split up to their respective floors. And here it was, so he might as well make the best of it.

He was on his third pass around the room when a familiar voice made him turn.

"Oh my god, Aaron! Put that down, _ugh_ -here," Eric remarked firmly, as if by way of greeting as he appeared out of nowhere beside him. Plucking his wine glass right out of his hand and dumping it on a passing waiter's tray. Replacing it with a beading glass of rich, caramel colored beer he nearly dropped on principal.

He blinked, gripping the slippery glass with both hands. Mouth opening and closing as everything he'd planned to say went right out of the metaphorical window as Eric smiled back at him - cheeky and cheerful as always. Looking like an absolute knock out in tan slacks and an unbuttoned blue linen waist coat that gaped attractively to reveal a swath of freckled collarbone and a simple, black v-neck.

"You looked absolutely miserable and I made an impulsive assumption," the man explained, nudging him out of the way of a couple art enthusiasts who were craning their necks to see the particular piece they were standing in front of. Hip cocking out like a wordless signal as he followed the man towards a more secluded corner. "I figured you're more of a beer guy anyway. Not the domestic crap mind you. No- more of a micro-brewery type of guy."

He blinked again. Realizing now that he was here he had no idea what to do with him. Honestly, in all his pre-planning he'd never actually gotten to this stage. He didn't think he'd get past the front door. This was one of those hypothetical situations they made high school math problems about.

"Or, do I owe you an apology and a new glass of hideously overpriced Malbec?" Eric added after a bit, forehead scrunching up in a way that had absolutely no right to be so fucking appealing, and yet, here he was-

Admittedly, he was still working out the whole dating thing.

Well, the dating a man part, specifically.

Unfortunately for him, denial and the fear of his mother's disapproval had run deep. Meaning the quick and dirty with his overly enthusiastic prom date had only been the first of an unfortunate string of him trying to do what was expected of him.

A lot had changed since he'd moved away from his small town and started washing off the dirty film of his parent's backwards opinions. Nowadays the second hand embarrassment he got whenever his mind strayed back to less than savory territory was reminder enough why every year since he'd politely declined his parent's invitation to come back home for Christmas.

It wasn't that they were bad people. Because honestly, they weren't. It was more that he no longer felt he needed their approval when it came to figuring out what he was looking for. What he wanted. _Who he wanted._ They didn't have control of that part of him anymore, if they ever had.

"No," he managed after another too-long smattering of increasingly frantic heartbeats. Self-aware of the sudden dryness in his throat as he tried to temper down the urge to cough. "Thanks for the rescue."

Eric just smiled again. Making that stupidly warm swooping feeling do a swan dive through his insides as he took a hesitant sip from his glass. Eyes widening with surprise as the rich, chestnut-infused brew encouraged the feeling to spread.

Hell, even the music wasn't helping.

What with its low, smoky beat and surprisingly suggestive lyrics as a male singer crooned through the speakers.

' _I've got a renegade heart and it's screaming his name.'_

Luckily for him Eric didn't seem to have a shortage of things to say.

"I didn't know you were coming," Eric hummed – curious but clearly not trying to pry as he took a sip from his beer. Something about the way he was leaning in – just the slightest of bits, hip cocked and gently swaying – reminding him of behavioral studies in his senior year of advanced psychology.

 _Interest._

 _Openness._

 _Attraction._

"I have a confession to make," Eric remarked without waiting for an answer. Eyes twinkling as he stretched in place, rolling his neck like he was trying to get rid of some stiffness there. Realizing that somewhere along the way he'd started to do the same – mirroring behavior. Something left over from all those old forgotten animal parts to show non-aggression, accessibility. "I hate modern art."

He choked on his mouthful of beer. Snorting with undignified, helpless laughter as the eyes of the room flickered over in their direction. Something in him softening in real time as Eric pealed a laugh he could feel sinking into his very marrow. Good and bright and everything he wanted for his very own as he wiped his mouth and chuckled along with him.

"Julia is perhaps the most gracefully talented creature currently alive on this planet, so I am here for her. But oh man, _I am dying_. If I have to talk to another person who thinks I am her boyfriend - praising me for having 'snared such a gorgeous woman,' I am going to lose it," Eric murmured in a mock-whisper, leaning close enough that he could smell him – making his pulse jump as he allowed himself a half-second to consider what it would be like to tuck his nose into a corner of that pale collarbone and inhale – as Eric rolled his eyes and did air-quotes for good measure.

"Give me the bathroom wall poets and graffiti artists any day," Eric said, lifting his beer in a gentle salute before sipping delicately at the foam. Watching him make appreciative noises into the glass until he realized he was just standing there, slack-jawed like an idiot. Caught on the way the man's throat moved through each swallow.

"I'll drink to that," he replied with a smile, re-patriating his tongue from where it had been stuck against the roof of his mouth. Not entirely sure if they were the right words until Eric lowered his glass, pupils expanding. "I didn't come here for the paintings anyway."

This time the man's grin had the beginning of a promise attached.

He might have been a little in love already.

 _Wasn't art awesome?_

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.

 **Reference:**

\- The title, "Kairos" is a rare word meaning: "the opportune moment."


End file.
